


Only A Matter Of Time

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angry John, BUT IT DOESNT HAPPEN, Barebacking, Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dominant John, Embarrassed Lestrade, Face Punching, Flirting Sherlock, Hand Jobs, I've now tagged it non-con, Idiots in Love, Large Cock, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Possessive John, Possible abusive relationship? See comments, Prostate Milking, Rimming, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Rutting, See description for warnings, Teeeny hint of non-con, Virgin Sherlock, sherlock in leather trousers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets frustrated when Sherlock flirts and uses his virginity to manipulate people. He warns Sherlock that someone will one day take advantage.</p><p>This is the story of what happens when someone tries.</p><p>Written for someone who wishes to remain anon on Tumblr. Beta'd once more by my wonderful and beautiful friend SherlockHolmesconsultingvampire. Big thank you to Gem_Gem and TooManyChoices for being my sounding boards.</p><p>**EDITED WARNING** numerous people have informed me that the story is cruel, violent, abusive and borderline rapey. I had no intention of writing such a story and double/triple/quadruple checked it with those above and also with the prompter. I just wanted people to ensure that they were aware that this may have DV/Non-Con triggers even though personally I do not feel that way. I can't handle the comments so if you're not a fan of any rough sex play, please don't read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

With a clenched jaw, John watched Sherlock lower his eye-lids and peek up from beneath thick, black lashes. The detective had been talking to the witness for almost fifteen minutes, and Sherlock didn’t seem to be aware of the increasingly lustful and predatory looks which the witness was throwing his way. John was on edge, constantly flicking his eyes over the witness's tight posture. Despite being surrounded by Scotland Yard, John felt that Sherlock might push too far with his feigned innocence and naïve behaviour and it would send the already unhinged man completely over the edge.

“Thank you, Dennis.” Sherlock smiled coyly before nibbling delicately on his lower lip. “It was lovely to meet you too, yes I’ll definitely call. I’ll let you take me for dinner.”

John fumed silently; he was almost certain that steam may be curling from his ears like an old Donald Duck cartoon as he watched Sherlock saunter back, his plush arse flexing as he ducked under the crime tape and his features returning to their usual expressionless mask, dropping Dennis' card in the bin on the way.

“What was that all about?” John seethed.

“What? Oh him.” Sherlock waved dismissively. “Security guard, closeted homosexual. I used his attraction to me to get a rush on the security tapes for the front car park.”

“You’re unbelievable!” John cried.

Sherlock’s face lit up with the praise before falling suddenly. “Oh, you didn’t mean it in a positive way.”

“No!” John replied angrily. “You can’t use people’s emotions like that!”

“I wasn’t using his emotions,” Sherlock frowned. “I was using his penis… or rather his desperation.”

John gaped, blinked and then shook his head. “Sorry?”

“He has no emotional attachment to me, only a sexual fantasy involving me as innocent and naïve. He thinks that if he helps me, I will date him and he can then engage in sexual relations with me resulting in me losing my virginity,” Sherlock continued, before starting to walk towards the main road where they could find a cab. “Since that isn’t going to happen, I’m not hurting anybody. Taunting men’s libidos is the easiest way to get things from them. Even straight men will look at my lips and daydream whilst I talk. I’ve noticed you doing it.”

John could feel the volcano-like eruption of pure anger boiling away in his stomach, but bit his lip to stop the vitriol spilling out to drown Sherlock. Climbing into the cab, neither man spoke as they rushed through the London traffic back to Baker Street where Sherlock climbed from the vehicle, leaving John to pay. The cabbie looked sympathetic. “Something tells me there’s going to be a hell of a domestic when you lovebirds get home.”

John glared at the driver and thrust the money into his hand replying, “We’re not a couple. That would be too fucking easy.”

* * *

John slammed the door behind him and walked up the steps to the flat, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat before striding to the kettle, filling it up with water and holding onto the countertop so hard that his fingers turned white as it boiled. He could hear Sherlock pottering around in his bedroom and he tried to calm his breathing which had increased rapidly as his thoughts turned to the sleazy and violent criminals they dealt with and the dangers which Sherlock was putting himself into needlessly and the bridges he was burning with the people they worked with on a daily basis.

John thought back to a week previously; Sherlock had been summoned to Lestrade’s office to fill in more tedious paperwork regarding the theft of a priceless family heirloom case they had worked on. Sherlock had sulked the entire way to the Yard and complained bitterly that filling in paperwork was dull and was cutting into his experimenting time. John had merely shaken his head and rolled his eyes, muting Sherlock’s dedicated ranting as the cab pulled up to Scotland Yard. The two men had entered the building and took the lift to the fourth floor where Lestrade’s office was situated; Sherlock tapped at his phone the entire time, setting off at a quick pace once the lift stopped moving. John followed as always and trailed the detective through the open place office until they reached the glass cube which was Greg’s office. Sherlock didn’t bother to knock, simply pushing open the door and marching through with a glare and a huff of, “This is boring.”

Greg rolled his eyes and nodded to John before sitting back in his chair with his heels resting on the desk. “Unfortunately, that’s part of the job.”

“Your job,” Sherlock clarified.

“And now I’m giving it to you,” Lestrade grinned, handing Sherlock a pile of papers. “Enjoy.”

John and Sherlock worked in silence for a while whilst Lestrade popped out for coffee, filling out the forms and occasionally groaning when the same questions were repeated. Sherlock was becoming restless, his fingers drumming against his thigh as his spiky writing became more and more unreadable. Their attention was brought once more to Greg, who entered the room with coffee and pastries. “Don’t say I never bring you anything.”

John smiled, thanking his friend and taking the offered cup and Danish. Sherlock loosened his posture and narrowed his eyes, looking at Lestrade seemingly for the first time since they arrived. “You’ve been exercising?”

“What?” Greg frowned, the crumbly bits of pastry falling to his shirt.

“You’ve lost fat and gained muscle tone,” Sherlock continued, pointing at Lestrade’s midsection, “and your biceps have grown almost two inches since I looked last.”

“When did you look at Greg’s biceps last?” John huffed a laugh, immediately regretting it when he noticed Lestrade look down at the floor shyly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips before staring between the two men.

“Lestrade helped me out of a tricky situation. He found me in an abandoned church where myself and my fellow addicts were using; I didn’t want Mycroft to find me so I pleaded with him to take me to his home.” Sherlock smiled softly. “It wasn’t like _that_ , John.”

John glared between the two men and nodded; Lestrade wasn’t the sort of man to take a junkie off the streets and into his bed, regardless of Sherlock’s beauty. He felt a moment of silliness at the jealousy which had flooded his system over Lestrade inviting a young, naïve Sherlock back to his home.

“He let me stay for a few days, fed and clothed me with what he had in his savings,” Sherlock said softly, a hint of caring and genuine fondness peeking through. “He got me through withdrawal and the sickness. Stayed with me when I was wretched.”

Lestrade looked down at the floor, refusing to meet John’s eyes which immediately set the doctor on edge. Sherlock stared at Lestrade for a moment before continuing, “One day, I heard my name coming from the bathroom and entered without thinking. Lestrade was pleasuring himself in his shower whilst shouting out my name.”

John flushed in embarrassment, looking over at Lestrade who was almost crimson. Greg met John’s eyes and then lowered them again, hissing, “Sherlock, that’s enough,” under his breath and covering his face with his hands.

“I offered to lend a hand. He had been so generous in helping me so I thought it was only fair but Lestrade jumped from the shower and fled. The next thing I know, Mycroft is at the door and I was taken to look at a flat of my own subsidised by my brother,” Sherlock sneered. “So yes, last time I looked at Lestrade’s biceps was when they were flexing and contracting as he stroked himself almost raw in the shower. I can tell he’s been working out as they’re bigger than before.”

“Well… thanks for that.” John sat back in his chair, taking a drink of his coffee but not tasting it as the jealousy he felt burnt away all sensations.

“So, can we leave?” Sherlock asked, watching as Lestrade nodded and turned his chair to face away from the men in mortified silence. Sherlock grinned and winked at John whilst reapplying his scarf and leaving the office.

“What the fuck was that about?” John hissed angrily as soon as they were safely in the lift.

“Hmm? Oh. My charms don’t work on Lestrade, I can’t flirt with him to get my own way but I’ve found that replaying the memory of his desire for me during my most vulnerable time helps me out of most situations,” Sherlock shrugged.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John frowned.

“Did you want to be stuck in that office all day filling out tedious paperwork?” Sherlock replied tensely. “I did what I did to allow us to leave that bloody place to continue our day unhindered. Lestrade will understand once the unwarranted shame fades. He had nothing to be embarrassed about truly, it was my own doing as I was being provocative whilst I lived with him. Bending over or being more tactile, wandering around in various stages of undress.”

“But why?” John asked, genuinely surprised. “Why did you flirt with him?”

Sherlock bit his lip and frowned as he thought of a reason. He decided on simply, “Practice.”

Stirring his tea in a way that threatened to crack the mug, John heard Sherlock approach behind him and reacted without thinking; he grabbed the detective and spun him until he had the pale man pinned to the fridge by his throat. Sherlock blinked in shock and stared at John with a frown.

“You think you can mess with people’s emotions, Sherlock?” John practically growled. “One day, someone will feel that you’ve teased them for long enough and they will _take_ what they want.”

“It’s for the work,” Sherlock insisted, slightly nervous at the change in John’s demeanour.

“And what happens, hmm?” John continued. “When flirting and teasing isn’t enough. What will you do when you have to start touching people… going further and further down a dark path until you’re pimping yourself out for clues.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“You would,” John interrupted angrily. “You fucking well would. You’d do _anything_ for The Work.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “J– John, release me.”

“No, Sherlock,” John barked. “You’re taunting men you don’t know. Complete strangers. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

“John,” Sherlock whispered, dropping his voice an octave and lowering his eyelashes to flutter innocently.

John gripped Sherlock’s windpipe tighter and growled, “That doesn’t work on me. You like the power trip. You’re the world’s only consulting cocktease and it’s going to get you into trouble.”

“I’ll never have sex with them,” Sherlock whispered. “I’m a virgin and I have every intention of remaining that way until...”

“Exactly,” John interrupted with a snarl, before releasing Sherlock and watching the taller man slump to the ground. “But one day, you’ll push someone too far, and they’ll just take.”

* * *

 

The two men remained in awkward silence whilst watching Top Gear. A sure sign that Sherlock was sulking as he never once complained about the show or the hosts who he called ' _Grumpy_ , _Arseface and Twat_ '.

“It’s just a trick,” Sherlock whispered from across the room before clearing his throat. “I don’t let it go too far.”

“One day it will, Sherlock,” John warned with a sigh. “And I don’t ever want you to get hurt.”

Sherlock frowned and looked over at John in an attempt to understand his friend’s frustrations but found nothing. “Why are you so interested? My sex life or lack of one isn’t anything to do with you.”

John inhaled and lowered his eyes; that was the crux of the issue. How Sherlock got off or if he ever got off at all was none of his business; the detective was a fiercely private person when it came to his own desires. The pair had never discussed Sherlock’s preferences since that ill-fated conversation at Angelo’s on the first night they met when John had tried, and failed, to flirt with his new friend. John wasn’t even sure which gender Sherlock preferred.

John pulled his legs under his body and turned to face Sherlock with a look of curiosity and embarrassment. “Do you… I mean are you asexual?”

“No,” Sherlock shook his head. “Not that.”

“Gay then?” John countered.

“I’m not especially sure but I would imagine so. I have a stronger reaction to men in regards to sexual arousal,” Sherlock admitted. “I like strong, powerful men. Women, any women, just don’t have the same appeal to me.”

“Do you even want to _have_ sex?” John continued, his heart pounding rapidly at the open and frankness of their conversation.

Sherlock thought for a moment, his fingers caressing his lower lip unconsciously. “I’ve wondered the same thing many times,” he admitted before shrugging. “I keep my sexual desires in check due to the risks involved. I often considered employing my virginity to acquire money during my drug days but I couldn’t go through with it. Instead, I would meet prospective men who I knew would have drugs, we would shoot up together and then I would take their money and flee from the area before they realised I was gone. I had a fairly genius procedure where I would…”

“Fucking hell,” John swore. “And you don’t realise how dangerous that is?!”

“I need to keep my virginity,” Sherlock insisted, finally becoming frustrated with the topic, his eyes sweeping over John’s frame before looking away. “It’s… difficult to explain.”

“You’re mad,” John shook his head, “and one day, it’ll get you killed.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Sherlock complained, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I can look after myself.”

John exhaled and scrubbed his face before standing from his chair and walking to his room without looking back at the puzzled detective.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men are on the hunt in a nightclub. Sherlock's wearing leather pants and flirting with other men, what's the worst that can happen?
> 
> *TW* Tiny hint of possible non-con. It doesn't happen but there's the threat of it there and I wanted to ensure I tagged it.

Dennis’ rushed tapes showed two clubbers dressed in the bright, modern clothing which seemed prevalent to this particular spot in the trendy part of Shoreditch as likely suspects. On John’s return from the clinic, he found a brand new outfit on his bed with a note written in Sherlock’s spiky handwriting.

**Meet me at Flesh nightclub. Wear this** **– SH**

John had sighed and scrubbed at his tired eyes, but followed the detective’s orders, showering, shaving and dressing in the obviously new clothes. John winced at the price tag on the designer blue jeans, swearing to keep them pristine and planning to return them the following day and pocket the cash for next month’s rent. He slipped on the crisp white shirt which clung to every muscle; considering for a moment, he smiled and grabbed his dog-tags, slipping them over his head to nestle in the open V of the neckline. After pulling on the new shoes, he finished with a spray of his favourite aftershave (which Sherlock had purchased him for Christmas a year ago) before checking his reflection. Pleased with the way he seemed to have mysteriously shed ten years, he spared himself a brief smug moment before Sherlock climbed the stairs and took his breath away.

The man was clad in leather trousers which were so tight they looked painted on, teamed with leather boots and a skin tight T-shirt which showed Robert Smith from The Cure. John blinked rapidly and swallowed the saliva which had flooded his mouth as he looked at Sherlock’s face, his curls tousled to silken perfection and his eyes rimmed with artfully smudged black kohl framing his golden green eyes to perfection. Sherlock nodded serenely at John before stilling in shock at the silver tags around his neck. “Y- You’re wearing… them?”

“If that’s okay?” John asked. “Does it look like I’m trying too hard?”

“No,” Sherlock shook his head and cleared his throat. “You look… it looks good.”

“You do too,” John replied, before grabbing his phone and wallet. “Shall we go?”

“Hmm? Oh erm… just a second,” Sherlock mumbled and rushed downstairs, immediately locking himself in the bathroom.

With trousers that tight, John wasn’t sure if the bulge in the leather was simply a crease, or something more. Within the constricting leather, any reaction would be limited. John descended the stairs and waited in the living room ( _standing up, he didn_ _’t want to crease his expensive clothes)_ before Sherlock flushed the loo and exited looking slightly flustered but confident once more.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

The nightclub was packed to the rafters with thin, beautiful, trendy people who seemed to John to be far, far too young to be out without supervision. He felt very old as he looked around the massive dance floor and watched young adults grinding mercilessly against one another to music which sounded like a hundred ambulances chasing a thousand fire engines through a warzone. Shrill screeches and pounding bass made John long for home with a cup of tea and a good book, however Sherlock was enjoying himself and in his element as he stood at the bar sipping something colourless and containing a lemon wedge whilst deducing the crowd. John had noticed that Sherlock seemed to be getting through his drinks much quicker than average, and the lightweight of a drinker was already swaying in his expensive clothes as his body reacted to the dreadful music thumping through the floor.

“I’m going to the gents,” John gestured with his thumb. “Are you staying here?”

Sherlock made a grunt of acknowledgement which allowed John to slip away into the crowd; he shadowed a gaggle of drunken teenagers towards the restrooms, allowing their cackling and screeching noises to be a homing beacon to follow as he passed down darkened hallways where young people snogged and rutted enthusiastically. John had a moment of doctorly concern about STI’s and teenage pregnancy statistics but frowned and shook his head, he had been the same as a youth and he couldn’t begrudge young people the opportunity now he was practically in his dotage.

John found the toilets and looked at his reflection in the mirror; his cheeks were flushed and red from the heat and humidity of the club but he still looked good. He turned and used the urinal quickly before listening to the sniffing sound coming from the end stall, and he was grateful for his glimpse of Sherlock safe at the bar and not snorting God-knows-what in an anonymous toilet. The doctor felt hopelessly out of place and uncomfortable, and he hoped that Sherlock had found what he was looking for to allow them to return to Baker Street and their comfortable slippers and fingers in the fridge.

* * *

Sherlock was on his third double gin and tonic; even slowed with alcohol, Sherlock suspected his brain was working faster than anyone else in this horrible place. He scanned the crowd and found himself being stared at by a young blond man across the dancefloor; recognising him as one of the suspects from Dennis’ CCTV, Sherlock gave his coy smile and looked away only to look back seconds later and find the man still staring. Sherlock felt the flutter of excitement in his abdomen as he watched the blond stride confidently towards him.

“Hi,” the man smiled, coming close to Sherlock’s left hip. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“First time,” Sherlock lowered his eyes, “for everything I’m afraid… I’ve never… come to a place like this.”

“Overwhelming,” the man nodded. “My name’s Adam, can I buy you a drink?”

“William,” Sherlock smiled and extended his hand. “Gin and Tonic please.”

Adam nodded and turned to the barman who served him immediately, obviously the man held some sway in the club. Sherlock began to deduce the man: _gay, middle child, used to horse-ride, works indoors._

“Here.” Adam handed Sherlock his drink. “Want to go somewhere less loud? I know a place.”

“Oh,” Sherlock blushed, playing coquette again. “That would be nice.”

Both men downed their drinks and left them on the bar, before Adam slipped his hand into Sherlock’s and began to lead him through the crowd.

* * *

 

John pushed his way through the crowd and winced as a young man shoulder barged him; John’s gunshot wound didn’t cause many issues anymore but it ached when jostled and it momentarily took John’s breath away as the man turned and glared at John. The ex soldier straightened himself to full height and puffed up his chest, returning the other man’s glare; the drunken man noticed the dog tags and immediately lowered his eyes and continued on his way.

John was fed up; he wanted to go home and now. He was bloody sick of this stupid place with its stupid bloody teenagers and its even stupider bloody music. He was determined to grab Sherlock and drag him out by his ridiculously tight pants until he realised that Sherlock wasn’t at the bar where John had left him; two empty glasses stood beside John’s remaining half a pint, one being Sherlock’s gin and tonic. John sniffed at the remaining glass and recognised the bitter sweet tang of brandy and coke. It might be a coincidence, but there was something too familiar with the way the two glasses were clustered and John felt ill at ease. He looked around and caught the eye of the barman who nodded towards the open door; John nodded his understanding and took off at a march in an attempt to find ( _and once more bollock for rushing off)_ his best friend.

* * *

Sherlock allowed himself to be manhandled against the wall of the manager’s office, suppressing an eye-roll as Adam ground their cocks together through their clothing and snogged Sherlock inexpertly. Sherlock acted innocent as was his way and pulled away with a gasp, lowering his eyes to the floor and giving a soft shudder. “I’m sorry… I’ve never…”

“That’s alright, darlin’,” Adam groaned into Sherlock’s ear. “I understand.”

Sherlock looked over at Adam and nodded with a gentle sigh. “Thank you. We can meet up maybe? Have dinner?”

Adam gave a sinister smile. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh?” Sherlock asked with a tilt of his head.

“Hmm,” Adam walked his fingers from the neck of Sherlock’s shirt down to his leather clad groin. “You see, I think you’re a tease. I think you come here with your _fuck me_ eyes and pouty lips and you torment men into getting you drinks and then you don’t give them anything back.”

“I wasn’t aware that I needed to pay for my drink in kind,” Sherlock said angrily, his eyes becoming tense as he looked over the weak spots on Adam’s face and neck.

The blond man grasped Sherlock’s throat tightly and squeezed, fixing his larger build against Sherlock until he was pinned to the wall. A sudden thought of Lestrade investigating his murder and finding him in these fucking stupid trousers spun through his mind before he focussed on John. John was somewhere in the club and there was a second suspect on the loose who could hurt John…

_John, John, John. He was right, he was always right._

Sherlock came back to himself as he was turned around against the opposite wall with his face pushed against the tacky wallpaper.

“Do you think I didn’t recognise you, Mr Holmes?” Adam snarled. “The funny detective in the silly hat.”

“If you know who I am, you know what I can do,” Sherlock insisted. “If you let go of me, I can speak to the DI at Scotland Yard.”

“'Fraid not,” Adam shrugged, as he held the back of Sherlock’s neck and began to unbutton the detective’s leather trousers, slipping them slowly down Sherlock’s sweaty upper thighs.

Sherlock slammed his eyes tightly shut, suddenly completely sober and aware of the harsh reality of his situation as Adam opened his flies with a noise which seemed far too loud in the small room. Sherlock began to fight in earnest, trying to gain purchase to shrug off Adam’s grasp. He took a deep breath and calmed his mind, preparing to enter his mind palace the moment the attack began.

John slammed through the door, looking over at Sherlock and immediately round-housing Adam in the face.

If John was honest, he wasn’t sure if he had time to comprehend what he’d seen. He saw Sherlock’s pale, bare arse and the world dimmed to a red haze; jealousy, possessiveness and anger raged through his body and propelled him into action as he hit the blond again and again, splitting skin and breaking facial bones as he punched in quick succession until Sherlock’s hand on his arm slowed his retaliation.

“Sherlock,” John whispered once the sudden rush of ire had abated.

Sherlock nodded and turned awkwardly, grabbing his phone and typing out a message to Lestrade before slumping over the desk and trembling as the adrenalin and shock washed over him. John rushed to Sherlock’s side and ran his hand through dark curls, his eyes wide and large as he checked over Sherlock’s body. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Sherlock cleared his throat. “He didn’t get that far.”

“This stops now, Sherlock,” John insisted, his rage still bubbling under the surface. “The flirting, the innocent act. It all stops.”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock nodded, realising pathetically that his eyes were filling with tears.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” John sighed, pulling Sherlock to his chest and stroking the younger man’s back softly. “What would I have done without you, you prick.”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whimpered.

John grabbed Sherlock’s head and pulled him in for a passionate and burning kiss; Sherlock’s eyes widened momentarily before closing as he relaxed into the sensation of John’s expert tongue fucking into his mouth. Sherlock melted boneless into the protective circle of John’s arms as the doctor soothed his nerves with passion and desperation. Sherlock whimpered into the sensation as John lowered his hand to Sherlock’s cock, which had rapidly hardened and now peeked through the gap of the leather trouser buttons. John looked down and saw the red tipped cock straining away from Sherlock’s body; he tilted his eyes up at Sherlock and licked his palm before wrapping a hand around the detective’s prick.

Sherlock gasped, his head falling backwards as John stroked up and down the turgid length; Sherlock bucked his hips forward, desperate for the almost perfect friction as John ran a thumb across the leaking slit and spread the precum around the tight flesh.

“Please,” Sherlock whined, his lips puckering as he tilted his head begging for another kiss. “John.”

“Tell me this is it. No more flirting,” John insisted, stilling his hand from its movements. “Nobody.”

“N-No. Nobody,” Sherlock gasped, desperately trying to thrust his hips to slip his cock into John’s fist further.

“Nobody but me,” John hissed angrily and pulled on Sherlock’s hair with his other hand as he picked up speed on Sherlock’s cock and violently bit down on Sherlock’s lower lip. The detective wailed, his eyes thrown open wide as he shuddered, clenched and then cried out in orgasm as ropes of come covered John’s fist, his trousers and Sherlock’s shirt.

“Mine, Sherlock. You. Are. Mine.” John punctuated with final thrusts, coaxing the remaining drips from Sherlock’s cock before licking away the bead of blood which had formed on the younger man’s lower lip. John blinked away the lust haze and looked down at his best friend slumped boneless on the desk, his eyes half lidded and his stomach muscles still locking and juddering as his cock softened against his lower stomach.

“Lestrade will be here any minute,” John whispered, kissing Sherlock’s forehead tenderly. “Come on. Get dressed.”

Sherlock blinked rapidly before seemingly understanding the command and stood on shaky legs to pull up his trousers and tuck his cock away; he noticed a pack of antibacterial surface wipes on top of the desk and reached for one, grimacing at the cloying lemon scent as he ran the wipe across his trousers and the desk, ensuring all of his biological matter was wiped away before allowing John to do the same. They tucked the wipe into one of Sherlock’s pockets and looked around the room before focussing on the unconscious form of Adam. John grumbled and checked the man’s pulse; finding it steady and strong, he considered giving the man a final kick but decided against it.

“John, I…” Sherlock trailed off as John pulled him for another kiss.

“Stop talking,” John insisted. “We’re done talking.”

Sherlock nodded and inhaled, the afterglow of his orgasm had left him washed out and desperate to sleep. He stood close to John and rested his head on John’s shoulder for a few moments until Lestrade crashed through the doorway and raised an eyebrow at the scene.

“The hell happened here?” Lestrade asked, his eyes trailing over Sherlock’s body hotly until he met the dark and rapidly angry look in John's eyes. Realising that something had changed in the atmosphere, Greg ordered his team into the room and began to transfer Adam onto a stretcher to take him to hospital whilst the Yarders checked through the office.

“He tried to hurt Sherlock,” John growled, purely animalistic. “That piece of shit was about two seconds away from changing an assault charge to a rape charge.”

“You alright?” Lestrade asked Sherlock frantically, checking Sherlock for visible injuries despite himself.

“Fine,” Sherlock waved dismissively. “I just need to go home.”

“I need a statement,” Lestrade insisted before clearing his throat, “and a rape kit,” he added sadly, looking at John who had tensed once more. “John, you alright?”

“Sherlock was almost assaulted tonight, he’s in shock. I’m taking him home. Doctor’s orders,” John replied snappily. “We’ll make a statement tomorrow.”

“John, you know I need to get the swabs done,” Greg said strongly. His tone brokered no argument.

“There was no penetration or assault,” Sherlock replied. “He only stripped me of my trousers, John found us before it went further. I promise, Greg.”

Lestrade stilled at Sherlock using his first name and nodded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he looked over at John. “Right, fine. Look after him alright?”

John smiled darkly before staring at Sherlock as he whispered, “I intend to.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock go home. Will things be different?
> 
> (Hint: of course it will. ALLLLLL OF THE SMUT!)

Sherlock’s legs felt like rubber as John led him from the small office and down the cramped hallway toward the main room. He recognised shock, and as his vision started to tunnel inward his legs collapsed from under him and sent him tumbling onto the floor, fumbling for John’s hand on his way down. John soothed his best friend, running calming hands through inky curls which were once perfectly tamed but now stuck up at various angles. With a steady hand, John attempted to pull Sherlock to his feet, only for Sherlock to once more stumble and fall to the ground with a whimper.

“Sshhh, it's okay,” John soothed, lifting Sherlock against his chest and supporting the man’s weight easily. “I have you now.”

The club was rapidly emptying under the watchful eye of Donovan who sneered under her nose at every passer-by. John shifted his arms more comfortably and allowed Sherlock to rest his head on his shoulder as he wound their way through the various tables, chairs and discarded bottles on the floor.

“Fucking hell,” Donovan laughed, looking over at John carrying his leather clad friend. “An officer and a gentleman, eh?”

“Piss off, Sally,” John growled, baring his teeth.

Donovan didn’t seem fazed as she looked at Sherlock from tip to toe. “And what have you come as?”

“Someone in shock and intoxicated who is still more intelligent than you,” Sherlock mumbled instinctively, watching the smirk on John’s face turn into a massive grin. Sherlock felt a bubble of warmth for the first time since the attack and pressed his nose into the crease between John’s neck and shoulder. “Let’s go home John.”

“Mmm, let’s,” John agreed, turning his face to protectively kiss the crown of curls on Sherlock’s head. Sherlock simply buried his face further into John’s neck as the doctor pushed passed the group of officers who gaped at the intimate scene between their work acquaintances.

“You know they’ll talk,” Sherlock mumbled as John walked them towards the taxi rank.

“Couldn’t give a shit,” John smiled and ran his thumb across the sliver of pale skin which showed between Sherlock’s t-shirt and trousers.

* * *

The taxi ride was uneventful as Sherlock curled himself around John’s hip, and allowed his mind to float away in a haze of comforted peace. John however was on edge, aroused and still angry at the circumstances of the night when Sherlock could have been hurt. John stroked his hand from Sherlock’s neck to arse crack until the taxi stopped outside Baker Street; John reached for his wallet only to find Sherlock was already handing the driver money and waving away the change. John smiled and opened the door to Baker Street, letting Sherlock enter before pushing him against the cool wood of the entrance.

“This is going to end with us having sex,” John warned. “You can say no, of course, but this is it, Sherlock. If you feel the same way as I do then say so now, because I won’t ask again.”

“John I…” Sherlock stammered before clearing his throat. “I need to confess somethi-"

John and Sherlock jumped as Mrs Hudson came to the door of her flat clad in her dressing gown, nighty and hair rollers. She held an iron fire poker in both hands and was peeking her head from the door.

“Oh, boys!” She chastised. “What on earth are you doing sneaking around in the dead of night? You’ll be the death of me.”

“Sorry, Mrs Hudson,” both men mumbled with a smile before Sherlock walked to her and gave her a goodnight kiss on the cheek. “Sorry to scare you.”

“You look like a rock star,” Martha tittered before patting Sherlock on the arm. “Goodnight, dearies.”

John waited until Mrs Hudson closed her door before locking up the front door and walking up the stairs; Sherlock trailed him, relaxed by the scent of home and Mrs Hudson’s baking from that afternoon. He kicked off his shoes and stood awkwardly in the doorway as John began preparing tea.

“You were saying?” John prompted, turning his fierce gaze on Sherlock once more.

“What? Oh yes… I was confessing. I erm… rather… I enjoyed you lifting me and carrying me protectively. I especially enjoyed you putting Sally in her place and… well, you know. The bit earlier was nice too,” Sherlock blushed. “I realised in the cab that I’ve been flirting with other men to make you jealous in an attempt to push you into… something. I’m not sure what.”

John dropped the teaspoon onto the worktop, tea forgotten as he glared at Sherlock until the younger man shrunk backwards nervously. John took three large steps until he was face to face with Sherlock and pulled back his hair to expose the detective’s eyeliner stained features.

“You were provoking me?”

Sherlock gave a timid nod before whimpering when John pulled his hair further back and snarled, his teeth bared as he sunk them into the pale flesh of Sherlock’s virgin neck. Sherlock gave a deep cry of shock and surprise as John began to bite and suck on the skin, marking it with a deep purple circle. John clamped down his jaws and grated the skin between his front teeth as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist; the detective was swaying dangerously and was close to fainting when John pulled back with a groan. “I hope you’re prepared for the consequences of your actions.”

The detective swayed once more and John lifted Sherlock until the younger man had his arms around John’s shoulders and his skinny legs wrapped around John’s waist. John could feel the pressure of Sherlock’s cock pressing against his stomach and growled deep and low as he turned to push Sherlock against the most convenient surface to rut against, which happened to be the fridge.

There was a tinkling sound as the push of two bodies rocked the fridge on its back legs and spilt the milk in the drawer as John tangled his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and pulled his head back, watching as Sherlock’s eyes grew darker and more hooded. The _clinkclink_ of John’s dogtags hitting his chest seemed louder than necessary in the still air of the flat as they bucked and writhed together.

“You have no idea the things I’m going to do to you” John whispered, kissing and nipping along Sherlock’s white throat, biting and sucking marks into the skin as he journeyed up to Sherlock’s ear. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, Sherlock Holmes. You’re mine and only mine, nobody else will _ever_ be able to take you apart like me.”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock managed, biting down on his lower lip to stop the whimper which threatened to escape from his throat.

John continued to rut his hardness against any part of Sherlock he could reach as he continued talking; he had never felt the urge to indulge in dirty talk with any previous lovers, but Sherlock brought out something animalistic and utterly carnal in him that told him not speaking filthily would be the same as not breathing.

“I’m marking your neck. I’m never going to let the bruises fade and you’re going to wear them like a collar. Like a badge of honour that you’re being fucked by me. Do you understand?”

“Y-Yes,” Sherlock stammered.

“I’m going to watch them move and flex when I force you to take me in your throat. I’m going to fuck your face, Sherlock, I’m going to use you and make you gag and whimper around my cock and then I’m going to pull out and shoot on your face. I’m going to mark you with my scent and my bites so that when we’re out on crime scenes everyone will be able to smell and see that you _belong_ to me.”

Sherlock whimpered and crossed his ankles and tightened the grip around John’s waist as John bounced and rutted them against the fridge. Sherlock vaguely remembered the fridge currently housed an experiment involving duck beaks, but rapidly found he couldn’t care about anything other than the perfect friction of John’s denim clad hard on pushing against his stomach. His own cock was leaking profusely now, smeared on the inside of the leather trousers as the press of John’s body rubbed against his waistband and forced the button against his frenulum.

“Tonight however,” John continued breathily, “I’m going to fuck you. I don’t want to make love or have sex. We’re going to _fuck,_ Sherlock Holmes, and I’m not going to stop until you’re screaming from oversensitivity and begging for my big, hard, thick cock to cum inside you. Would you like that, Sherlock? Would you like to be stretched wide by my prick until you feel like you’re going to split in two and you can’t come anymore because you’re totally empty?”

“John!” Sherlock gasped in surprise, his eyes wide and unfocussed as he circled his hips and then slammed them down a final time with a choked off moan as ribbons of cum spurted from his dick. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing ragged as he looked utterly corrupted.

John stilled his hips and pulled back from the fridge but continued holding Sherlock tightly as the younger man shuddered through the spasms of his climax. John’s cock ached from giving Sherlock two orgasms whilst not coming himself but he cleared his mind and turned towards the bedroom, walking through the hallway to Sherlock’s room and depositing the detective onto the soft and luxurious mattress, hoping that Sherlock wasn’t storing any vile experiments under his covers. Thankfully, the bed was clean and freshly changed as Sherlock shuffled up the sheets to rest his head on his pillows. John turned on the main light in the room and watched as the artificial light brought out the colours in Sherlock’s face; the black streaks of his eyeliner makeup ran down his pink infused cheeks and his red, swollen lips were pouting more than ever before as John took in his fill of Sherlock.

“Get undressed,” John ordered, taking off his dogtags and slowly unbuttoning his own crisp white shirt which was now marked with semen and eyeliner. The slither of skin grew steadily bigger as John worked his buttons through the holes and stared down at Sherlock who was unable to tear his eyes away from John’s exposed chest. “Sherlock, I won’t tell you again.”

Sherlock snapped back to reality and cleared his throat as he grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it unceremoniously over his head revealing seemingly endless perfect, pale skin. John licked his lips as the lovebite he had given Sherlock stood out proudly on the creamy flesh and skimmed his eyes lower, over the pebbled rust coloured nipples and the soft auburn fuzz of Sherlock’s chest and underarm hair. The detective lifted his hips and began unbuttoning his trousers with a grimace as he encountered his still warm load which coated the inside of his pants. He shimmied out of the fabric and kicked them off the end of the bed before lying naked and trembling, his eyes full of lust yet apprehension as he watched John slide the fabric of his shirt from his arms before beginning on his jeans. Sherlock licked his lips as he noticed the bulge at John’s groin; he had deduced early into their friendship that John was blessed in the trouser department ( _another reason why he had waited for John to be his first)_ but it seemed his deductions were only part right. John wasn’t just blessed, he was fucking huge.

“Hmm,” John licked his lips and began slowly unbuttoning his jeans, opening the placket and allowing the red tip of his cock to show from the waistband of his boxers. “You look so wanton. I need to know though, when were you last tested?”

“After rehab,” Sherlock mumbled. “All clean.”

“Good, because I intend to come inside you,” John grinned wolfishly.

Sherlock whimpered and unconsciously spread his legs wider; his cock was attempting to harden once more despite the two orgasms he had already indulged in tonight. He assumed his body was grateful for the release as Sherlock didn’t give his transport the pleasure it so often desired.

John kicked off his jeans and pulled down his boxer shorts; his cock was magnificent and stood proudly. Sherlock estimated it was over nine inches at least, thicker than any Sherlock had seen outside of porn with a fully retracted foreskin and a slight upward curve. John looked utterly divine.

The doctor climbed onto the bed and crawled on all fours towards Sherlock; John boxed his lover in with his arms either side of Sherlock’s head and his lips looming immediately over Sherlock’s own as he licked them and scanned Sherlock’s eyes. Seemingly happy with what he found, John placed all of his weight onto one arm and moved his other to Sherlock’s groin, scooping up the cum which was beginning to dry on the younger man’s skin and bringing it up to Sherlock’s lips with an order of, “Open.”

Sherlock did so, allowing John to push two, thick, musky tasting fingers against his tongue and palate as Sherlock tried his best to suck and lick away his own seed from John’s hands. John’s eyes darkened further with predatory lust and he removed his fingers only to replace it with his tongue as he lapped at Sherlock’s mouth, tasting the hint of gin still lingering on Sherlock’s tongue along with the unfamiliar taste of semen. John groaned and pushed his hands into Sherlock’s curls before biting and sucking another mark into the opposite side of Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock keened, arching his back and feeling his cock give another brave throb.

“On your front,” John insisted, moving so that he gave Sherlock space to manoeuvre. The detective blinked and then understood the command, turning onto his front and lying flat with his cheek against the cool pillowcase which smelt like Lavender and home. The sensations were almost overwhelming so the aroma of safety and John, _his John_ , helped to ground him somewhat as John grabbed his lover’s pelvis hard and lifted until Sherlock was forced onto his knees with his head down low. John growled animalistic and deep as his eyes looked over the pink, perfectly untouched arsehole of his best friend and flatmate; he traced his spit slicked fingers across Sherlock’s hole and circled them slowly and teasingly as Sherlock whined and lifted his buttocks higher. John chuckled softly and shook his head. “So impatient, such a needy little virgin.”

Sherlock whimpered and buried his face in his pillow as John experimented with soft strokes and tender brushes of Sherlock’s entrance. There was a moment of stillness in the air as Sherlock braced himself against the mattress; John waited for the second that Sherlock relaxed before lowering his head to Sherlock’s arse and licking frantically around the hole. He didn’t give Sherlock a warning or time to experience the pleasure, he licked, lapped and kissed at the exposed skin again and again until Sherlock’s mind whited out with bliss and the detective began to shake and shiver, groans, screams and wails escaping his lips as he gripped the bedding tightly and pushed back in a desperate attempt to get more of John’s tongue into his eager hole.

“Do you have lube here?” John asked Sherlock, watching the detective peel his face from the pillow to gaze backwards in confusion.

“Quoi?” Sherlock answered before shaking his head and focussing his brain. “What?”

“Did you just answer in French?” John laughed, before skimming his fingers across the now slightly loosened muscle of Sherlock’s arsehole. “Lube, do you have any?”

Sherlock shakily shook his head and bit his lower lip, angry at himself for ruining the one chance he had with John. John obviously caught the look that flickered across Sherlock’s face and buried his head back into the crease of Sherlock’s arse, giving it a few more licks and sucks before pulling away.

“I’m not a monster,” John whispered. “I know I said we would fuck but I’m not going to fuck you dry, Sherlock. I need to get lube from upstairs but I’m coming straight back, alright?”

Sherlock nodded his understanding, and took the opportunity to watch John scuttle from the bed and out of the doorway with no hint of embarrassment as his erection bobbed between his legs. Sherlock exhaled and repositioned his thighs until he was comfortable. His mind was whirling with thoughts, emotions and feelings so normally foreign to his logical mind that he felt like he was drowning. He calmed immediately when John returned with a large pump top bottle which he placed on the bed at a handy distance. The doctor moved back to his position and squeezed the water based lube onto his fingers, whilst licking around and around Sherlock’s hole in small circles until the younger man relaxed. Using his other hand, John held onto Sherlock’s lower back before pressing his finger against the muscle of Sherlock’s arse watching it slam closed and Sherlock gasp.

“Relax,” John ordered, as Sherlock took a deep breath and released it. Sherlock gave a whine as he felt John slowly breaching him with his thick index finger; the stubby digits were nothing like his own long, violin callused hands which he was used to during the infrequent masturbation sessions he indulged in. John felt like he was stretching him wide, finding new spaces and nerves which Sherlock hadn’t encountered before; Sherlock grimaced at the unusual feeling but stilled himself as John twisted his finger and pulled it out a little faster than was strictly comfortable. John pressed two fingers at Sherlock’s entrance and pushed them inside; Sherlock hissed at the stretch and winced at the sharp pain of being so rapidly opened but quickly found his arse unconsciously pushing back onto John’s fingers in a desperate attempt to have John press against his prostate. The doctor knew exactly what Sherlock was up to and ensured that his fingers neglected the intended target.

John scissored his fingers wide, stretching Sherlock’s virgin hole with his thick, meaty surgeon's hands. His callused skin caught on the rim of Sherlock’s arse as he pulled out before thrusting straight back in with a slick and sordid squelch, which had the detective whimpering and hiding his reddened face. John grinned and curled his fingers, expertly finding Sherlock’s special spot and causing the younger man to see stars as John pressed forcefully but not painfully on the gland, watching as a stream of precum began to steadily drip from Sherlock’s half hard cock.

“Look at you. You’re leaking precum all over the bed without even being hard,” John laughed, rubbing his other hand across Sherlock’s buttocks and then down to cup his bollocks. Sherlock keened and dropped his head back as John combined a playful squeeze of his testicles with a stroke of his prostate. Sherlock’s body fell onto the bed flat as he shuddered and gasped whilst John milked him from the inside. He had never felt anything as intense as this sensation and it was almost too much for the inexperienced virgin who writhed on sweat covered sheets.

John pulled out his fingers and reapplied lube from the pump bottle; he rearranged his position to ensure his broader, steadier body was wrapped around Sherlock’s back with his dominant, lubed hand at Sherlock’s arse and the other holding Sherlock’s throat and dragging his head back until Sherlock’s throat was taught and straight. Despite the size difference, John was still able to nibble and suck on Sherlock’s neck and shoulder as he pushed three well lubricated fingers inside Sherlock’s hot, wet heat. The younger man froze, a gasp escaping his lips at the stretch and burn of John’s digits. John focussed on the prostate once more, circling and jabbing at it effectively until every few seconds, Sherlock was jerking with the strong pulse of pleasure which emanated from the little bundle of nerves. The detective’s cock, now trapped under his belly, was smeared with precum and the creamy spunk being teased directly from his prostate by John’s domination of his entire body. It was blissful.

John was becoming impatient; his cock ached like never before from seemingly endless torture and although he knew that he should be softer and more responsible with Sherlock’s naivety, he couldn’t help himself from pulling out of Sherlock’s sopping hole and adding more lube to the fourth and final finger on his hand, knowing that Sherlock would need to be stretched further in order to take all of his sizeable prick. John ensured he watched Sherlock’s flushed profile as he gradually pushed in a fourth finger; the tightness was unparalleled in John’s prior history. Nobody had ever felt as tight as Sherlock around his hand and John couldn’t wait any longer, he pistoned his fingers in and out of the drenched hole, listening to the vulgar slick noises as his fingers scissored and widened Sherlock’s body as the younger man panted beneath him.

Pulling out of Sherlock’s hole, John positioned his leaking and crimson tipped cock in the crease of Sherlock’s arse. He stretched out his body so that his legs were tangled around Sherlock’s longer ones, his cock resting at his detective’s entrance whilst his heavier and much broader stomach and shoulders pushed Sherlock into the mattress, keeping him pinned beneath John as the doctor wrapped one arm around Sherlock’s neck and the other grabbed the headboard for leverage. The older man ensured his arm was tight enough to lift the brunett's head back and to the side, allowing him to watch Sherlock’s reaction as he teased his open rim with the glans of his cock. John chuckled darkly as Sherlock whimpered, grinding his hips down in a frantic attempt to coax John inside him.

“Stop that,” John warned, his hand cupping Sherlock’s chin and turning his head further until the younger man winced. “Kiss me.”

Sherlock messily swirled his tongue around John’s lips, and whined when John took his tongue into his mouth and nipped it before sucking deeply. “Your hole is wide enough, wet enough for me, Sherlock. I’m going to take you and I’m not going to stop until I fill you up.”

The detective barely had time to inhale before John slammed his cock inside, sending the younger man sprawling up the bed and flailing his arms in an attempt to ground himself. John lowered his head and growled as his cock was enveloped in scolding hot heat which fluttered around him. He removed his hand from the headboard and grabbed both of Sherlock’s still outstretched and grasping hands to hold them together, roughly holding Sherlock’s wrists hard enough to bruise as he snapped his hips forward, directly hitting Sherlock’s prostate and causing the pale man to wail and throw back his head.

John’s long, thick cock skewered Sherlock again and again; he pulled out until only his glans were inside Sherlock’s body before pushing back in, aiming for Sherlock’s sweet spot with every rough thrust. His magnificent dick stretched Sherlock past the point of comfort until the younger man whimpered, screamed and cried out in both distress and absolute, mind numbing pleasure as his prostate was pounded _again, again, again._

“Fuck yes, Sherlock,” John growled, his voice gravelly and purely animal. “Take my fucking cock.”

Sherlock’s body protested the painful stretch; his cock had softened slightly in the initial burn of penetration but was now filling rapidly as Sherlock rocked back onto John’s prick, taking more and more of him inside as his cock was rubbed against the mattress in a manner which didn’t get him any closer to orgasm, and left him feeling itchy and unsated as John grunted into his ear. Sherlock moved his hand to wrap around his cock only for John to growl and grab his wrist again with a warning nip to Sherlock’s neck. The detective arched his back, feeling the weight of John resting against him, pinning him down, grounding him to the bed to stop him floating away with the unbelievably intense and wonderful sensations.

This wasn’t how Sherlock had planned his first time; he had researched most people’s virginity ending sexual congress sessions which usually included tediously dull mating rituals like flowers, dinner and candles. But this? This was celestial, this was utterly glorious and sublime and a hundred, thousand other synonyms which Sherlock’s normally quick witted brain couldn’t think of as John fucked into him again and again and again. Sherlock loved it. It was perfection in itself and Sherlock wanted to dedicate an entire wing of his mind palace to this feeling; the feeling of utterly belonging to Captain John Watson and being ravished and cared for and completely fucking ruined by him and his exquisite penis.

“Mine,” John grunted, bringing Sherlock back to reality with a start. His body didn’t feel like it was his own anymore. He felt like a part of John, an addition to the blond man’s person.

“Yours, John, o- only yours,” Sherlock whimpered, wondering how on earth his body was managing to endure the endless pounding and whether he would be able to sit down for the next week.

John pulled out of Sherlock and quickly moved to reposition them, his strong arms throwing Sherlock over onto his back without a second thought before John climbed over him and slammed his prick back inside. Sherlock’s cock was erect and leaking profusely against his stomach as John gripped it tightly and swiftly began to stroke, massaging the sensitive tip with Sherlock’s foreskin until the younger man was crying out, his head rocking from side to side on the pillow. John placed his weight on his good shoulder by placing a hand beside Sherlock’s head and leaning down to kiss him; the two men snogged passionately as John snapped his hips.

“Sherlock,” John cried. “Come for me.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and his mouth widened with a silent scream as his back arched and his orgasm crashed over him painfully. A pathetic dribble of cum covered the bush of black curls as John pumped the detective’s cock and thrust into the pliant body beneath him. John’s bollocks churned, sending shivers of pleasure up and down his spine as his hips became jittery and uncoordinated.

“John,” Sherlock rumbled, his eyes blinking open and showing how glassy they were. “John, come in me, please, please.”

John gave an inhuman snarl as his head fell back and rolled on his shoulders; he gave a final, harsh thrust and stilled, screaming as his edged orgasm finally burst from him with five long, powerful thrusts which bloomed inside Sherlock’s oversensitive body and sent a shudder through the younger man. John cried out, gasping heavily and breathing ragged through his nose as he rested his forehead against Sherlock’s as the final shivery wave of bliss washed over him and his legs began to feel weak.

John rolled off Sherlock, careful not to hurt the thinner man as he pulled out of the abused hole and felt the first drips of cum dribble onto the sheets beneath them. The doctor lay beside his lover and took a deep breath before pulling Sherlock closer, putting the inky curls onto his shoulder and placing a tender kiss on Sherlock’s sweaty forehead. The detective whimpered and clung to John’s body like it was a lifesaving raft and he was afloat in the ocean; John stroked strong fingers up and down Sherlock’s spine and shushed his lover whilst they indulged in the afterglow of their orgasms in silence.

Twenty minutes later the two men were cooling and spent; on the verge of falling asleep when John stroked his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

“Sherlock?” He whispered, nuzzling into the dark curls.

“Hm?” The detective answered, exhausted after the evening's events.

“Why didn’t you just tell me… if you felt this way?” John continued. “Rather than flirting with other people and making me crazy with lust and need. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sherlock smirked and snuggled closer to John. “Because you’d have wanted to take it slow and treat me like I was made of glass.”

“I was… rough,” John said, slightly embarrassed at his lack of control. “I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn’t and it was… wonderful.” Sherlock reassured his lover, sitting up with a slight wince at the ache in his arse. “I had never imagined it happening like that… but only because I didn’t know it could _be_ so pleasurable.”

“No more flirting though?” John asked quietly. “You are mine?”

“Of course, John.” Sherlock snorted. “After that, you can safely assume that you cannot get rid of me anytime soon. You now officially own me.”

John raised an eyebrow and chuckled happily. “Do I get to boss you around and ensure you eat, sleep and not get killed?”

“Absolutely,” Sherlock insisted. “And you also get to shag me senseless whenever you want… you know why?”

“Why’s that?” John replied with a grin.

“Because I’m _your_ consulting cocktease. The only one in the world.”


End file.
